


bite my lip and close my eyes

by crimsonxflowers



Series: kinktober 2017 [5]
Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Kinktober 2017, M/M, Mutual Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-21 22:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13153644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonxflowers/pseuds/crimsonxflowers
Summary: “Here, gimme,” and oh this isstupidthis is a bad idea and yet his hand’s out and it’s like he’s sitting a few feet away watching himself make the most embarrassing decision of hislife, “open up real quick.”Meyer’s eyebrowsjump, and he blurts out, “Excuse me?”Charlie hears himself say “it goes down easier like this, c’mere,” and then—instead of beingsensible, which is basically hisjob—Meyer’s opening his mouth with a wary expression on his face andfucknow Charlie has to go through with it.





	bite my lip and close my eyes

**Author's Note:**

> written for kinktober 2017, for the day 26 prompt "shotgunning." i know it's two months late but it gave me a lot of trouble okay. modern au, obviously contains recreational drug use. title's a green day lyric.

He’s halfway through rolling a joint when his phone bleeps from between the couch cushions. Usually he'd leave it and finish rolling but he's only got a few custom ringtones set on this phone, and he’d have to be dead before he ignored Meyer. So he digs the phone out and lets out a breath he didn't really know he was holding when all the message says is _Hey. Can I come over for a bit?_

Charlie grins to himself, texting back _if u dont mind a foggy apartment sure_ before he drops the phone screen up on his coffee table, right next to the papers and baggie and his in-progress joint. Sure he's stuck with an overpriced shoebox of an apartment for now, but it's definitely an upside if it means he not only gets to smoke whenever he wants, but he gets Meyer all to himself for a bit too. Better to give him a warning off the bat though—it probably won’t keep him from coming over, since Meyer smokes enough cigarettes that Charlie worries sometimes, and Charlie can talk him into getting tipsy every once in a while, but as far as he knows Meyer's never smoked up. If he has it hasn't been with Charlie, anyway.

That thought makes a little tendril of jealousy unfurl in his chest, which is even less justifiable than usual, considering he’s stewing over a fucking hypothetical. So he shakes it off and goes back to rolling and waiting for a response. He drags his tongue along the paper and twists the joint closed just as his phone buzzes, messages cascading in at an impressive speed, if he had to admit it.

_What?_

_Oh._

_It's your place. Be there in fifteen._

And that just requires a truly obnoxious emoji face in response. Once that's off into the ether, Charlie throws himself back on the couch cushions and lights up. Joey’s obnoxious sometimes but fuck if he doesn't get Charlie the good shit, and Charlie leans his head back on the couch as the high creeps over him, muscles gradually going slack against the cushions.

Meyer said fifteen, and Meyer knows his shit, so Charlie assumes it is in fact fifteen minutes later when there's a knock at his apartment door. He shouts “S’open!” loud enough that Meyer can hear it through the flimsy sheet rock, and he snickers when Meyer’s head pokes through the doorway. “The fuck you knockin’ for? Better not’ve lost my key.”

Meyer purses his lips, clicking the door shut behind him and flipping the deadbolt before ambling over to the couch. His key ring dangles from his fingertips as he rattles the keys reproachfully in Charlie’s direction, before he says, “Like I really want to walk in on you half naked. Again.” And… alright, fine, but Charlie doesn't bother hiding the pout stealing across his face. He looks great half naked, thanks. Or any level of naked.

Meyer shakes him out of that train of thought by settling down on the other end of the couch, shouldering his backpack to the floor—wait, backpack? “...You come straight from school?” Charlie blurts out, sitting up a little straighter and furrowing his brows a bit.

And he's not so high yet that he doesn't notice the way Meyer’s jaw tightens a little bit before he speaks, pulling his phone from his pocket and turning to his bag to stash it. “Ma’s taking Rosie to the doctor’s again, so Jake’s keeping the girls busy,” he mumbles, more to his lap than to Charlie. He zips the front pocket closed with way more force than necessary, face still turned to his bag. “Dad’s still at work.”

That explains a lot.

Charlie winces a little bit, but scootches over enough to bump his shoulder into Meyer’s. Meyer doesn't look up, but he doesn't inch away either, just squeezes his eyes shut, and breathes hard out his nose. Charlie maybe stares a little bit, but it's more out of concern than anything else. Really. He _doesn't_ lean in more than companionable distance dictates. He can be responsible, weed or not.

It's hard, though. Meyer’s still a line of tension perched on the edge of the couch, and—“it kinda hurts to look at you, y'know.” Not the smoothest line he’s ever used, but it gets Meyer’s head picked up, and he looks over with that little line between his eyebrows he gets when he's confused but doesn't want anyone to know, and _fuck_ , Charlie just wants to grab his face and—

And nothing. Meyer’s his best friend. Meyer’s two years younger than him, and despite being _cute as fuck_ Meyer is apparently not interested in _anyone_ , which is a mystery for another day, but he is smart and careful and has a _plan_ and _college applications_ out and is definitely not interested in a stoner drop-out like Charlie. So. And nothing.

Anyway.

Charlie gets his train of thought back on track—which is a fucking _monumental_ achievement at this point—and nods, lazily flapping a hand at Meyer’s face. It's not quite touching, so it's fine. “What kinda friend would I be if I didn't help you relax, huh?” And that gets an eyebrow raise, so Charlie tips his head at the joint faintly smoldering away in the ashtray on the table. “All yours, if you want. Got more where that came from.”

“Of course you do,” Meyer responds, but the look on his face isn't the look of immediate refusal that offer usually gets Charlie. Must’ve been a _real_ bad afternoon, if he’s actually considering it, but Charlie’s not gonna point that out. Meyer reaches out, still hesitant, and picks up the joint. “...You know where it's from?”

Charlie snorts. “Yeah, Adonis grows it in his fuckin’ garden, it's clean,” he snipes back, and the little glance Meyer shoots him is exasperated but more than a little reassured. Joey’s aunt’s greenhouse in Westchester isn't exactly a picturesque window box in the Village, but a little hyperbole won't kill him. And it is good weed.

He doesn't say anything as Meyer brings the joint to his mouth and inhales, which he realizes is a mistake as soon as Meyer takes a long pull like it's one of his cigarettes— _hard._ His eyes go wide just as Charlie sits up straight, and the smoke pours out of his mouth as he coughs hard enough to hack up a lung.

Charlie _really_ doesn't mean to, but he can't stop the giggle that sneaks out. “Sorry, fuck,” he sputters when Meyer gets his shit together enough to glare at him, “shoulda warned you, burns a bit.”

“Good to know,” Meyer says, sarcasm thick enough to cut with a knife. Charlie just grins at him, one lip caught between his teeth, and tips his chin at the joint again.

“Here, gimme,” and oh this is _stupid_ this is a bad idea and yet his hand’s out and Meyer should be able to _tell_ when Charlie’s got a stupid idea brewing but he passes the joint over and this is _the worst idea_ it’s like he’s sitting a few feet away watching himself make the most embarrassing decision of his _life_ , “open up real quick.”

Meyer’s eyebrows _jump_ , and he blurts out, “Excuse me?”

Charlie hears himself say “it goes down easier like this, c’mere,” and then—instead of being _sensible_ , which is basically his _job—_ Meyer’s opening his mouth with a wary expression on his face and _fuck_ now Charlie has to go through with it. So he takes a drag, holds the smoke in his mouth, and leans in, ignores the way Meyer’s eyes go wide, and breathes the smoke into Meyer’s mouth, from just far enough away that their lips _definitely do not touch_ , but it's a real close thing.

“‘Kay, breathe in and hold it,” he says, mouth empty and lips tingling. Meyer’s mouth closes, but his eyes don't get any less wide. Charlie leans back like it's nothing, like he does this all the time and his pulse isn't pounding because god _dammit_ Meyer’s eyes are even prettier from two inches away. He settles against the cushions and hopes he sounds more casual than he feels when he says, “...Smoother, yeah?”

Meyer blinks, and exhales slow, smoke streaming up above their heads. “...I mean I'm not coughing, so,” he says, finally, and Charlie lets himself relax a little bit. Meyer’s shoulders creep down maybe a quarter of an inch too, and Charlie will take that blue ribbon, so he holds the joint out and waits for Meyer to take it again before he stands up.

“Should be easier now you know it’s comin’. You hungry?” he asks, and doesn't bother waiting for an answer. If he's not yet he will be, probably, and Charlie's never not down for cheez-its, so he leaves smart little Meyer to do whatever he wants with the joint and bangs around his cabinets for a few minutes. He definitely doesn't take his time and stand in his kitchen and think about how close his face was to Meyer’s, how wide his eyes went and how good he looks when he's surprised. That'd be pushing it.

By the time he flops back on the couch with the dented cheez-its box, Meyer’s—well, his shoulders are still set, but he's leaned back against the cushions and his eyes are lidded and smoke’s bleeding from his parted lips and in six years that's probably the closest to “relaxed” Charlie’s ever seen him, so, yeah, he's gonna call this one a win. He drops the box on the table with a mumbled “go wild,” and grins when Meyer snorts, undignified. He shakes his head when Meyer holds the joint out and hunches forward over the papers still scattered on the coffee table. “Like I said, s’all yours,” he says, shaking more weed from the bag, focus split between Meyer and getting another spliff started.

“You sure?” Meyer asks, that little line popping up between his eyebrows again, and _god_ Charlie hopes the way he shakes his head hides how hard he swallows.

“Wouldn't’ve offered otherwise.”

The line doesn't go away, but Meyer pulls his hand back, and his eyes flick to Charlie’s hands, shifting the weed on the paper into a clean line almost unconsciously. He edges a bit closer on the couch, expression clearing the way it does when he focuses on something. “Show me?”

Charlie’s eyebrows lift, and he stops fucking with the weed to stare at Meyer’s face, all big dark eyes and intent. “One joint enough to get you on the stoner train, Mey?” he teases, and grins when Meyer rolls his eyes at him.

“No, I'm not planning on it. I just—” and he shrugs, loose-limbed. “Call me curious.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuckin’ genius, gotta know everything,” he says, and he's gonna blame how fond it sounds on the high. Meyer focuses on him again, dark eyes searching his face, and—okay, joint. Rolling a joint. He does this constantly without an audience, it's not that fuckin’ hard. He clears his throat and gets back to work; he doesn't bother narrating, just lets his movements slow down a bit more than usual so they're easier for Meyer to track.

And this is another thing that’s going on the list of “shit he didn't think through,” because Meyer’s eyes follow everything he's doing. Up to and including licking along the paper’s edge before he twists the joint closed. Which means that laser focus is zeroed in on his mouth now and he's going to fucking explode. He drops his eyes, because if he keeps looking at Meyer looking at him he’s gonna make a mistake and ruin a ten year friendship, which he’s pretty sure neither of them want. “Boom,” he says, and holds the joint up with a lazy flourish, which is still a degree of fanfare it doesn’t really deserve.

The amused huff Meyer lets out is definitely louder than usual, and Charlie grins to himself as he snags the lighter to get his own smoke back on. “You’re good at it,” Meyer says, tilting his chin at the joint in Charlie’s hands before taking another cautious drag off his own, and Charlie cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Real marketable skill, huh?” he snorts, flicking the lighter’s wheel and lighting the spliff between his lips. He holds for a second, exhales, and glances over at Meyer, who’s just… looking at him. With his face. Which means anything Charlie was thinking just flies out of his head, and he leans back against the couch, shoulder pressed along Meyer’s. Because why not.

He takes a drag, even though Meyer’s still staring, and he cocks an eyebrow at him instead of saying anything. Meyer blinks, and takes a drag off his own joint, gaze dropping as he does. He breathes out, slow, and presses his shoulder against Charlie’s. It’s nice, just sitting with Meyer, no pressure to _be_ anything, and if this is all he gets, he can live with that.

Eventually he can feel the heat of the cherry against his knuckles, and he glances over to Meyer, who’s fiddling with the lighter in one hand, finally looking like his brain’s not running a million miles a minute for once. Charlie clears his throat, leans into Meyer’s shoulder for a second. “So?” Meyer looks over at him, expression blank, so he tilts his chin at the first joint, burnt down to a stub in Meyer’s fingers. “How was it?”

Meyer looks down, then leans forward to drop it in the ashtray, and Charlie’s almost too busy suppressing the shudder Meyer’s shoulder brushing against his causes to catch his answer. “It’s fine. I can see why you like it,” he mumbles, leaning back on the couch cushion. He licks his lips, gaze darting to meet Charlie’s, and he kinda shrugs his shoulders a little bit. “Definitely went down smoother the other way, like you said.”

The other—? Oh. “Oh,” he blurts out, and Meyer looks away, fast, and Charlie feels like his head might explode. He just shrugs, way more casual than he feels, takes a drag from the still-burning joint in his hand, and tries his best to look considering as he exhales. “At least one more hit in this one, if you want?”

Satisfaction simmers in his chest when that gets Meyer’s eyes back on him. _Fuck_ , he’s easy, but Meyer just tilts his head at him, asks, “y’sure?” The word’s a bit more smushed together than Meyer’s usual sharp diction, and Charlie grins, despite the butterflies in his stomach—Meyer can pretend he’s a block of steel all he wants, but everyone’s gotta relax sometime.

“Like I said, more where that came from,” Charlie says, waggling the fingers of his free hand in the table’s direction. “Besides, sharin’s carin’ or whatever the fuck,” he tacks on, and Meyer’s eyes go wide and startled for a third time before he actually fucking _giggles._ And fuck, it’s cute, he’s so fucked. Charlie just grins, waiting this rare effusive moment out for the few seconds it takes Meyer to rein it in despite the high, then tucks one leg under himself to face Meyer a little more head on. “So, uh. Same thing?”

Meyer’s expression goes uncertain, but he nods, eyes intent on Charlie’s face again. He really wants to think Meyer’s eyes catch on his mouth a little longer than they would otherwise, but considering it is, in fact, the promised method of delivery for the hit, it’s probably just that. So he lifts the joint and inhales, jerking his chin at Meyer as he holds the smoke in.

Meyer’s lashes flicker against his cheek, just barely, as his lips drop open. Charlie leans in, and fuck if he doesn't know it's stupid, more bold or hopeful than he would be thanks to the high and Meyer being _so fucking close_ , but he can't stop himself from leaning in more this time, and their lips brush as Charlie opens his mouth. Meyer doesn’t flinch back, doesn’t jerk away—his only reaction is the barest dip of his eyelids at the touch. He breathes the smoke in, lips closing, and neither of them move back while he holds it. The most he does is tilt his head a few degrees to the side as he breathes out, smoke streaming past the side of Charlie’s face. Not that Charlie notices, not when Meyer’s lips are pursed so prettily right in front of him, and he swallows hard, voice splintering in his throat. “Meyer…”

“Yeah,” Meyer says, and Charlie can't tell if his voice is husky from the smoke or from something he doesn't dare to hope for, but he's not pulling away. “...Do it again?”

The words take a second or two to register, but once they do… makes sense, Charlie said he’d share, so what if it’s not what he was hoping for, so he inches back, starts to raise the spliff—

“Charlie.” He freezes, the sound of his name from Meyer’s mouth when they’re so close enough to send shivers down his spine, but he meets Meyer’s eyes. He can see the way Meyer swallows before tilting his head, only a few degrees, at the ashtray on the table. “Put the joint down. And do it again.” He presses his lips together, as if that’ll hide the way his voice shakes a bit, but his eyes are so fuckin’ serious and—

Fuck. Okay.

Charlie does as he’s told, drops the joint in the ashtray and turns to face Meyer fully, leaning in before he wakes up or loses his nerve or Meyer comes to his senses and brushes his lips—closed, this time—against Meyer’s. It’s soft, barely any contact at all, but Meyer’s little inhale is enough to set off sparks of heat in Charlie’s chest. Meyer leans in and kisses Charlie back, and Charlie’s close enough to hear the little noise he makes in his throat when Charlie presses forward too, knees bumping into Meyer’s as he inches closer to him on the couch.

Turns out Meyer’s lips feel as soft as they look, and Charlie shudders at the slide of Meyer’s mouth against his. Everything feels _more_ , and he doesn’t know if it’s the high or if it’s because it’s Meyer or if it’s both, but every press of Meyer’s lips against his makes him shiver. Nothing's ever felt so real or so _much_ , and Charlie would gladly do this forever. Especially if he can get Meyer to make more sounds like that.

But Meyer breaks the kiss, and Charlie can’t quite keep the questioning noise in his chest from spilling out. Instead of answering, though, Meyer just leans forward enough to press his forehead to Charlie’s shoulder. Charlie can see enough of his face to see his eyes squeezed shut. “Wanted that for a while,” he says, the words muffled by the fabric of Charlie’s shirt.

That sets off something warm in Charlie’s chest, the feeling unfurling slow and sweet and burying the worry of having fucked up somehow. He tilts his head to press his lips to Meyer’s temple. “Yeah? How long’s a while?” he murmurs against the skin, and he can feel the way Meyer swallows before he answers.

“...A while.”

Something in Meyer’s voice catches Charlie's attention, and he inches back, brow furrowing. He’s used to reading little things in Meyer’s face, the way he locks everything down like it’ll kill him if anyone knows how he’s feeling. Even now Meyer’s still not an easy read, but he looks cornered, like he’s admitting to too much. And it might be the wrong move, but Charlie reaches up to slide a hand along his jaw, tilting Meyer’s face up to his. He presses his lips to Meyer’s cheek, and fuck he wishes he was better at words, but he says, “Me too, Mey. Just… didn’t think you’d want me back.” The words are more honest than he’d be if he wasn't high, but if Meyer’s going to be open about it—or what counts for open with him—Charlie can at least meet him halfway. S’only fair.

Meyer finally looks at him again, eyebrows knitting together incredulously and Charlie still wants to kiss the line between them away, but Meyer just shakes his head and leans in, a little hesitant, to press his lips to Charlie’s again. Which Charlie is _fine_ with.

He catches Meyer’s lip between his and sucks, gentle, but it’s enough to get Meyer to make that little noise again, sharper this time, and that’s— _fuck_ , it’s probably the hottest thing Charlie’s ever heard, and they’re not even _doing_ much of anything. He can’t help but crowd closer—he’s definitely feeling the high, so this isn’t going below the belt any time soon even if he didn’t think that’d be pushing stuff too fast, but he just wants Meyer closer.

“Mey, can I—” he mumbles against Meyer’s lips, and while the distracted little noise Meyer makes in return is gratifying as _fuck_ , he still huffs in frustration because he could be _closer._ It’s another herculean effort to pull back, but before Meyer can do much more than open his eyes and shoot a confused frown in Charlie’s direction, he presses his palms against Meyer’s shoulders to get him to scootch back on the couch. And the confused look on Meyer’s face is _very_ promptly replaced with wide eyes when Charlie gets settled right in his lap.

A satisfied noise breaks out of Charlie’s throat, and he just kind of strokes his fingers along Meyer’s shoulders, the feeling of solid muscle under his fingertips really, _really_ distracting, but he glances up to catch Meyer’s gaze. “Okay?”

Meyer nods, but he’s still got that startled look on his face, so Charlie stops touching and just… looks. And waits. “I don’t know what to do with my hands,” Meyer says after a few seconds, and Charlie really doesn’t mean to but he can’t stop the grin that spreads across his face. Meyer frowns up at him, curling the fingers of the hands in question against Charlie’s couch cushions. “ _What?"_ he says, more petulant than Charlie’s expecting, which only makes him grin more.

“Nothin’,” he says through the grin, and shrugs. “Just not used to hearin’ ‘I don’t know’ come outta your mouth about anything.” Meyer huffs at that, but amusement creeps across his face anyway, which is another win to put up on the board today. Charlie slides his hands up, cups Meyer’s jaw again, and leans back in. “Anythin’s free game, Mey. Whatever you want,” he says against Meyer’s lips. He can just barely feel the way Meyer shudders under him, and he grins again when Meyer’s palms settle, tentative, on his waist. “Good choice,” he mumbles, before pressing forward to catch Meyer’s lip between his teeth this time.

That gets him a quiet gasp and Meyer’s fingers clenching in the fabric of his t-shirt, and realistically at some point everything Meyer does is gonna have to stop being the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him. It’s probably not gonna be any time soon. Charlie presses closer, knees against the back of the couch. The way Meyer’s hands shift to slide up his back has him making a noise of his own.

Everywhere Meyer touches him feels electric, even through clothes, and he can’t stop stroking his thumbs along Meyer’s face as they kiss. He never wants Meyer to stop touching him. And judging by the way Meyer’s hands can’t stop moving, from his back to his shoulders up into his hair, there’s no danger of him stopping any time soon. Charlie nips at Meyer’s lip again, and gasps when Meyer tugs at his curls in response. It’s him pulling back this time—he doesn’t want to push things too fast, and he’s sticking to his guns. Even if Meyer pulling his hair makes him want to do the exact opposite. Instead of sliding to his knees like he really really wants to, he tilts forward to press his forehead to Meyer’s.

Meyer blinks up at him, and Charlie’s not sure if the slightly dazed look on his face is from the high or the kissing, but he can basically claim credit for both, so it’s flattering either way. Charlie leans back, just a little bit, and drapes his arms over Meyer’s stupidly broad shoulders. “So the weed’s just ‘fine,’ huh?” he says through a smirk, reaching up to brush his fingertips along the nape of Meyer’s neck.

The grin that steals across Meyer’s face totally undercuts the way he rolls his eyes. “Fuck off,” he mumbles, and his fingers tighten in Charlie’s hair again. Charlie grins back, before leaning back in to kiss him some more.

**Author's Note:**

> i live for comments, or come talk to me about gangsters in love on [tumblr!](http://meyerlansky.tumblr.com/)


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